Don't Die On Me
by Milkingcows
Summary: What if the rest of the nations died in that mansion during HetaOni, leaving China, Japan, England and America as the only survivors? How would it effect Japan, who had finally made friends after isolation? Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A 'flashback' in Japan's mind from my friend and I's roleplay that is based off HetaOni.**

**HetaOni does not belong to me. And neither does any character mentioned from Hetalia. I wish I did, I just don't.**

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><p>"<p>

There had been enough deaths. First France, then Canada, and then it had went on and on with the nations, one by one, until there were only four left. Even Germany, the man who had taught Japan through those serious training drills, was done, having been killed fighting for Italy, who had died anyway. A valiant effort put to shame. An effort in vain.

There could be no more, thought Japan, eyes flashing from the monster to America - or Alfred F. Jones, from Japan's dreams - who's back was back against the wall of the hallway, holding a non-moving Britain.

'No,' whispered Honda Kiku. His hand went straight to his sheathed sword, but he feared it might be too late for physical combat. The monster was closer to the two blondes than Japan or China were. It was horrifying to think, but Japan could use his curse. Could. But that would mean exhausting his stamina, leaving him weaker and more tired than he would have wanted to be...

But then he remembered his dream, where he had fought with Britain, and chanted a couple words under his breath, lifting up both his hands to do so-

-'Japan-aru, no!'-

-and then the hall lights flickered, a vibrant red light flashing violently, the monster that they had jokingly called Tony at first getting 'hit' by it before turning away from his two original prey and towards Japan and China.

For once in a long while, when America grinned at Japan, Japan smiled right back, trying to tell him simply that the two English-speaking nations had to move immediately.

Japan did not watch as America stood up with his former mother-nation ( they were in similar positions, weren't they, thought Japan sourly ) in his arms, unconscious and limp. Did not watch as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, how Alfred F. Jones carried away Arthur Kirkland, running with a sickening limp that made Japan's smile fade and a wince replace it. The blue-eyed blonde's leg had to be broken, there was just no way of facing how he could possibly stand, let alone run with it.

He would not give away the other two's escape. He would fight this monster until it disappeared like all the rest of the times. Hopefully that would give enough time to Britain and America, so they could get to safety. Hopefully the fight would end with Japan being able to stand.

He most certainly felt weak _now_, however. He would still fight, though. Maybe with no magick, but that was besides the point.

He pulled out his sword and glanced over at China, a sickening feeling surfacing in his stomach. He regretted having agreed to let the other even leave the room. He hadn't wanted to seem like a hero, or like he was trying to be brave and find the answer to get out of this place by himself, but he had been scared senseless that the other would get hurt and leave him like everyone else.

Japan couldn't handle being alone.

He truly couldn't. Not after finding the wonderfulness of company.

Japan had not seen the swipe of the monster's attack coming, or the fact that the monster had advanced so quickly, but suddenly his arm seared with the pain that clawed it's way up his arm and into his shoulder, and he cried out softly, glaring at the monster that was merciless in delivering it's blows. It hadn't even given time to think, before attacking. Whatever, Japan still had one arm. He could fight, he was strong like that. He just thanked whoever that the thing hadn't attacked his dominant arm.

He swung forward and felt a sense of glee hit him when he cut through the monster's chest, just as what happened to him a couple hours back. Then he swung again, cut through the monster's shoulder, suppressing - with trouble - a wide grin. He now knew why America had smiled so much, and why Italy had always seemed happy. Because it felt good to smile. To know that they weren't alone in anything.

China. China would always be here for him. Never would China leave - Japan would not allow it, hysteria hitting him. If something happened to China, if something happened that made him leave-,

Japan felt the sword drop from his hand, and looked up at the monster before him. Oh god, what was _that_?

Monster magick.

What had taken out Germany.

If he had believed that the pain of something slicing his shoulder at hurt, he was horribly wrong, as suddenly a dark light surrounded him and attacked him mentally with the screams of his fellow nations, of Axis Powers, of his 'friends'. The company, the people who kept him away from loneliness. As suddenly all he could see, all he could focus on was the _illusion_ of everyone, one by one, dying before his eyes, reaching out for his help, or looking away from him. Giving him glares that left him filled with misery.

He saw things that made him want to rip his own eyes out just so he wouldn't see anything.

He heard begs of mercy, shouts of terror, blood filled screams of pain... and then what came last was the most deadly of all.

Silence.

Nothing _but _silence. Silence and darkness that took over two of his senses, but made him feel as though everything had been taken away from him.

It's all an illusion, he thought to himself, blinking multiple times, taking one careless step backwards. He was terrified of the things he couldn't see, wished he had been more careful, wished that he had not thought before acting. Maybe then he would be going through this much.

_It's a trap._

The monster was going to attack China was Japan was left defenseless of both himself and his former mother-nation.

Japan screamed as though going through the worst torture, the worst nightmare, screamed until his throat bled, and then continued screaming.

"


	2. Chapter 2

_- The Awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt_

If only someone could actually write in a neat manner. England remembered when America's handwriting had been that ineligible: back when he had been a mere youngster. Back when England had been in control.

Then, suddenly, the signature changed.

- 本田菊Honda Kiku*

Was that Japanese? Britain may not have spoken it, though he recognized it when he saw it. What it said, though, was unknown to him. What was he even looking at? This paper in his hands that changed words and languages at different times...

_- Alfred F. Jones_

That was America's handwriting.

Britain woke up.

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><p>"Dude, you're awake!" Was the first thing to grace the older nation's ears. He wanted to move, but found that there was a pretty strong pair of arms wrapped around him, holding tightly, threatening to never let go. His body also hurt, hurt in places that hadn't even been hurt for decades. He leaned back against the broad chest and sucked in a deep breath, though still did not speak. "Iggy? Bro, what's the matter? I know you go pretty beat up and all..." The arms around him tightened into a hold that actually hurt as much as the wounds themselves. England suppressed a wince. "...but usually you would be angry with me for trying to help you out."<p>

England spoke. "Where are we?"

Green eyes closed as their owner imagined the scenes from when he was last awake. When he had tried to keep America safe from the monster. How he had tried so hard, and yet got himself hurt instead. Undesirable. How had America and him gotten away, though? America couldn't have fended off the monster by himself, could he? A bright flash of red light infiltrated his thought process, leaving him confused on what had actually happened after he lost consciousness.

"I think we're down in the basement, or something," _He thinks?_, England raged to himself before the other continued. "I went to the closest door I could find unlocked and went right in! Luckily, I noticed the stairs, ha! Right England!"

Then it was no wonder that Britain couldn't see. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple times, allowing his eyes to get used to the dim lighting of the room they were in. After a couple minutes, he saw that they were in a room with walls painted white, bookshelves on the one wall, a table in the middle, and a black door that struck him most odd. When he looked down at where he spotted America's legs on either side of his own legs, he saw that they were sitting in what appeared to be a green chair - judging by the hand rests. He would have turned his head to look back at the younger nation who's lap he sat upon, though that would have made things embarrassing, and would have made him have to stand up. And he was too comfortable to stand up out of the other's lap. Even if he should have been the one to be comforting America in such a way, he didn't want to stand up. At least, not until this painful empty feeling in his gut was fulfilled.

"Dude, you hungry?" asked the person behind him, and England realized that it wasn't any emotion that he was feeling pain from. He was hungry. God, he was literally _starving_. He would have gone for anything right now, even one of America's godforsaken cheeseburgers. "I got one of those rice ball things left from earlier. Japan gave it to me awhile ago... said something about a toilet-"

-Images flashed past England's eyes, images that could not be explained, blocking out anything that he would have wanted to see from the room they were in. He saw Prussia, Germany, Italy, even France and Canada in a bathroom on the first floor. They were getting something from the toilet - food. They were putting money into the toilet and buying food from it. It had peppers and beer and, oddly, those 'rice ball things'. Then they had left, only to be attacked in the hallway-

"-_England_!"

Britain's eyes flew open as quickly as his mouth had dropped the moment he saw those haunting images of his fellow nations that were now dead. He only saw the other's face, the worry shown in the furrowed blonde eyebrows, the horror in those bright blue eyes. As America opened his mouth to shout something again in his face, Britain spoke calmly, "I'm hungry. No need to yell in my face, you bloody wanker. You're getting your saliva on me." Though he hadn't truly meant to come out so mean. They were all each other had at this moment in time. Whether Japan and China were still alive, he had not a clue. The last he had seen of them had been what felt like years ago. The last time he saw the two was when they had scattered, before Canada had died, after they decided that the monster was too strong and they had to flee from battle...

America's features tightened for a second, before a big smile took over. He stood up - when had England been repositioned so that America was kneeling over him in this chair? Just _when_? - and held out the rice ball in question. England raised one of his eyebrows when he noticed that there was a mouth-shaped chunk missing from it. "I was still hungry after the first one," said the blue eyed male sheepishly. When both of England's eyebrows raised, America looked away, changing his answer with a small stutter that was barely even noticeable. "T-that's the only one we had left. I only took a bite; the rest is for you." When England still didn't take it...

"Dude, just take the damn thing!" It was shoved into his hands rudely.

The gentleman took a few moments to look down at the rice ball, suddenly feeling even worse than he had before. Wounds or not, he knew the feeling; guilt. It hurt him to take food from a young thing such as America who needed to grow, still. England was an old nation, he could live without food for a little bit longer. And if what he had seen in his 'vision' was correct, then he should be able to buy food from a toilet... despite how weird that sounded in his head, and how weird it would sound when he mentioned it to the other. If it were true, it would be worth sounding stupid. However, if it were not true, then it would have been a waste of their time and energy. It would have been a waste for a lot of things. England held out the onigiri back to America, staring up at him with threatening green eyes.

"Don't you ever," he warned lowly. "use that tone of voice with me again." He meant it, even if he were not in control of the other anymore. Then, not wanting to start a fight between each other, he also added on breathlessly, "While you eat that, let me tell you a story I once heard. Perhaps it will chase our hunger away." Even if it wouldn't - it most definitely wouldn't.

Yet it seemed to have caught onto the younger's attention already, as America took back the rice and crouched down in front of the chair that England sat in. It made the green-eyed male have to actually look down for once at the other, something he had not done in such a long time. Since America had been a child - before his rebellious age. Oh, the memories it brought just to think back to those sweet days, even if there had seemed to be wars coming at him left and right. It had been so nice to see a smiling face waiting for him as he returned to the colonies. "The story I came across a long time ago..." he started.

Though that wasn't what he told. He lied about having come across the story years ago. He actually would be telling about his dream, and the events that had happened before in his dream. He had a lot to tell, and he felt as though it were important to getting out of here.

Britain spoke of a man named Arthur Kirkland, who had many allies even if most of the time he felt alone. In his dream, Arthur Kirkland had been himself, however, Britain did not say that. He spoke about how this man named Arthur Kirkland was suddenly found in a situation where said allies were dying, one by one, horrible and disturbing deaths until there was only himself, and then even he died.

But then, as his dream had, time reversed itself to where Arthur was faced with the same problem, having knowledge of how his friends each died around him, though them not remembering one bit. He spoke of how at one part, both Arthur Kirkland and his little brother who was named Alfred F. Jones ( who had been America in his dream ) had both died sacrificing their lives for their friends. But then time was reversed again and again, multiple times until things were too confusing to explain anymore. The last part he had said that actually did make sense was one 'time loop', as he called it, where Arthur and his little brother Alfred were left to each other and two Asians - and that had been the end of his dream. That had left them to reality - that was the situation they were in now. Hopefully the other would be as oblivious as he usually was and not catch on to anything.

America stared up at him as though waiting for England to continue. When he didn't, the male with glasses spoke. "Wow. Heh, Alfred F. Jones seems like quite the hero, saving all of Arthur's friends at different times in those 'time loop' thingies. But I'm a better hero." By now the onigiri was gone. Which was practically devastating to England, but he stayed silent. "...Alfred's like me, don't ya think, bro?"

England shrugged.

"And that one guy... Francis, was his name?" America snorted. "He reminds me of France so much. Just how perverted they are. Dude, I betchya they would get along just fine, stripping poor and innocent bystanders with their eyes." he paused, as if suddenly deep in thought. "It seems that his relationship with Matthew is similar as well... though it's not ringing a bell to me. Hey, Iggy, where did you hear this story from?"

This time the Brit was silent, counting the seconds that he used to think up a good enough story so the other would be convinced. He didn't want to speak a reason too quickly, though, neither did he want to take too long. When he opened his mouth to speak, he found himself interrupted.

"That Arthur Kirkland dude reminds me of someone I know as well."

England's left eye twitched. "Really now?" he questioned quietly, watching the younger male with a keen eye. America wasn't as oblivious -_stupid -_ as most made him out to be. Unless, of course, he was finding the familiarities through something else. "Probably one of those bloody action movies you create. Those are just about the most horrible things I have ever watched-," America stood up within the middle of that speech and leaned forward, invading the gentleman's privacy, but also bringing up some curiosity. "-Just _what _do you think you're doing, you bloody wanker?"

The 'hero' frowned. "Arthur," he said, his voice timid.

"...Yes?" Britain was confused with the lack of confidence in the other's voice, deciding that he preferred a loud America over a quiet one like this.

America smirked. "I knew it," he whispered, leaning even closer, causing England to lean back a little into the chair. "Who am I, then, Alfred? Alfred F. Jones... seems like a pretty cool name,"

"Wh-what are you doing-?" hissed the older male. "Do you mind? You are in my personal-"

"Can't I kiss you?" That question right there caused England to freeze. "One has to invade another's personal space when trying to kiss, dude."

Dude. _Dude_. _Dude!_

England was quick to grab at America's shoulders and pull him closer. "Gentleman, I'm a _gentleman!_" He said that in his defense quickly before smashing his lips against the other's in a bruising, nearly painful way. It was he who whimpered against those lips that tasted of their last onigiri, he who opened his mouth when America swiped his tongue across his lips asking for entrance, and it was he who let out a wanton moan when America crawled onto the chair, bending awkwardly to get closer and look for some room to sit himself down. The younger nation placed both his hands on his original mother-nation's cheeks, closing his eyes and relaxing for the first time since they had entered this horrible place...-

England suddenly pulled back, panting silently, opening emerald green eyes to meet with bright blue ones. "Am-America," he stuttered, surprised with the genuine worry that was shown so clearly. "Nng, don't touch me there,"

America pulled his hand back from England's thigh, realizing that it was pain in the wince. "Sorry," he apologized, tensing suddenly.

The elder raised an eyebrow. "Ameri-" He did not even have to finish, a chill shooting up his spine. Goose bumps crawled over his skin when he heard something approaching this room, the hairs on the back of his neck standing when he realized that it was not human-sounding. "The door," he whispered. "Did it have a lock?" his eyes shot over to the door.

Britain's eyes caught a glint in the dark, and he saw America's outstretched arm, a gun held steady at the door. A small click emitted itself from the pistol, and Britain realized that America wouldn't be cocking his gun if the door were locked. The sound outside the room stopped altogether when two pairs of eyes landed on the door. The breathing of two individuals also stopped, as well as any movements.

The door slammed open.

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><p><strong>*You know, fanfiction absolutely refuses to use my Japanese words, which is why I had to sign Japan's name in English words rather than have them be in Japanese... kanji.<strong>

**I do not own any character from Hetalia, and I do not own HetaOni either. Some of the plot is mine, but that is only what I do with the characters. **

**-Also, I decided that I should add that the character are both Japan and America because at one part, it will be focused on America and England, and at another part, it will be focused on China and Japan. This is not an AmericaxJapan fanfiction. Sorry to burst people's bubbles. :|**


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